I have lived in many places, seen many different faces, and this is the thing that is still yet within my grasp. When people think of home do they always think of a place? Somewhere that has family? Somewhere that represents more? I don’t know because for some reason I can’t tell you.

I WANT TO GO HOME but I DON’T KNOW WHERE THAT IS!

There are times when I have thought of myself like and obscures but I am an adult, I dream of places that are not there, but to me they are as real as when I wake up. It is the pain of being a transfigurist. I create illusions. I am an illusion. I want to go home.

I want to leave the place I was brought to simply because I hate it here. I don’t understand what this place is, other than a prison. A prison inside my own head. I think of places to go but isn’t that just like running away again? Running like I did the first time. I think of Cokeworth, I can see our old house. I can see the rug the box and the stairs. I think of London, I can see my house, the bricks, the passage. I can’t see home though. It is disappearing. Are we truly cursed? All of us. I want to go home. I want to live, the way that I used to live. But somehow I am hunted, trapped.

I WANT TO GO HOME but I DON’T KNOW WHERE THAT IS!